


Astoundingly Ordinary

by Rumpels



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: HPFT, Dark, F/M, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-31 20:35:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6486532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rumpels/pseuds/Rumpels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's about finding light in the darkness, perhaps by obscure means.</p><p>Igor Karkaroff Character Vignette</p>
            </blockquote>





	Astoundingly Ordinary

The day had begun bleakly. He had been released from his imprisonment only to find himself utterly alone. He traveled from bar to bar, seeking to numb the pain.

No. He was numb. What he needed was to feel. To be alive. To catch fire. To be fire.

None of the alcohol could bring an end to his suffering. He fled deeper into the unknown, idly moving from town-to-town, seeking redemption, if only by his own means. At the edge of giving up, giving in, dropping right there on the ground and letting the vultures pick the rotting flesh from his bones.

But this woman found him. Allowing him her tender caress and resounding laugh; her gentle company. She would forever be his savior. Or maybe he found the woman for she, too, seemed a little worse for wear.

She wasn't her. She wasn't the memory that haunted him. She wasn't her.

And then night fell, a perfect shroud of camouflage to conceal sin. The sky clouded fiercely and allowed no light to seep out into the small village. Hot, smooth flesh brushed beneath his fingertips and he reveled in the feeling of raising flesh as goosebumps appeared -- as if commanded by his touch. Kisses lingered with the sweet taste of whiskey, slightly abused and leaving its consumers flushed, needy, dizzy, and excited. Every tantalizing touch sent sparks of electricity through his entire body. Short, erratic breathing left the window stained with fog.

_"Igor...."_

The soft, breathy, desperate voice drove him mad.

Dark eyes turned blue, just a ghost of a memory from long ago, but in that moment, it could have been her. Anyone could have.

A crackle came from the burning wood in the fire, its dim light painting the room orange. Igor could feel the warm licks of the flames dancing across his back.

He shivered.

The eyes that stared up at him, as dark as death itself, snapped him from his memory. Getting lost in the infinite ebony pools was easy enough. It was the long silky hair that was twined around his fingers that made him giddy. The luscious plump lips that grazed his neck caused the feral noise to escape his throat. Her gentle curves were the motivator of his lust-driven excursion.

He felt alive.

For the first time since she left, he could feel his heart beat, drumming in his chest, hammering through his ears. He had been left so cold, so humiliated after being released from Azkaban. So cold since the day he left her.

A broken stranger, dangerous and dark, found his way into a muggle bar, enticed by the piquant scent of the woman's perfume -- familiar, but oh-so-different.

He needed to feel so badly. He needed to be touched. He needed to be held. He needed to be loved. He needed an escape from the pain that had tormented him for such a long time.

So there he was, seduced by a Muggle woman's charm, intoxicated from the gentle purposeful hands that touched his face. And she became her once more -- it was all that he could see.

It was all too much.

Seeing. Eyes. Lips, mouth, hips, hands.

Hearing. Gasps; his name, _Igor_. Sighs -- _oh_.

Smelling. Sweat -- fire -- skin -- whiskey.

Touching. Flesh; human, hot, flesh.

Tasting. Breath, lips, whiskey -- desperation.

Igor pulled the blankets tighter around them, capturing her lips in a greedy kiss, never opening his eyes to affirm that she wasn't her. His war was over (for now) and he could once again breathe (as long as she was her), a great weight being lifted from his shoulders (and his chest would ache when she became she, and not her). He was flying, drifting through the air, free.

She had her own reasons for the need, he was sure. The need to feel anything at all could drive any sane person into the rash, blinding befuddlement that was love.

Raw love. Her love.

His distraction would only be temporary, he knew. By the time morning came she would be she, and he would be long gone. She would leave only a bittersweet memory that would stay with Igor for the rest of his life. Her presence with him tonight would act as a symbol of his new life. He would create a life without regret. He would create a life that he could have possibly shared with her (not she) had he not been the man he was. He had only needed to choose her.

But he could not get caught up in the technicalities. He would relish the night if it would be their last spent together. He would hold her tightly until the sun's autocratic rays would tear her from his arms. The sun could have her tomorrow, he decided, for she was his tonight.

He would forget the excruciating pain of the Cruciatus Curse. He would forget the dampening fear of the Dark Lord's gaze. He would forget the thrill of killing. He would forget the lonely, damp, dark days in Azkaban that would forever mar his soul. He would forget the shame of naming his fellow Death Eaters to save himself from his own cowardice. He would forget the betrayal in her ocean eyes as he turned away from her -- the last look he'd ever get from her. He would forget everything. Tonight he had room for only one thing in his mind: the woman beneath him quivering in ecstasy.

His eager lips found her collarbone, leaving wet kisses in gratitude.

He felt foolish. She did not have a name. He never asked.

But he did have her name, a silent chant at the back of his mind.

It did not make a difference.

In reality, lost somewhere far beyond their drunken stupor, such a beautiful woman would not have a man like Igor. He'd had her once. He'd thrown her away. He did not get another chance. He would never see her again, after tonight. He had to get his fill of her in the few hours remaining. Never in his life had he experienced love quite like this. Then again, it was never love he felt.

It was always sex. Just sex. It was something necessary for him to live his miserable life each day. It was something that he needed to bring himself to get out of bed in the morning. It was something that he had misused, something he corrupted.

This was something different when she became her.

He needed to make her feel pleasure, never mind his own. He wanted to make her scream, to beg for him. He sought to still her pain.

Igor Karkaroff had been called many things. He was ruthless, a Death Eater, evil, mysterious, dark, tormented, and even deemed a coward upon abandoning his loyalty to the Dark Lord. But tonight he was just hers.

He pulled her body closer to his.

Never in his life had he felt so astoundingly ordinary, and finally, he felt as though he'd be able to stand on his own...in the morning, at any rate.


End file.
